


catastrophe

by thenerdwithacamera



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Does Jumin Han Is Gay?, M/M, More tags will be added later, how do i work ao3 send help, sort of a bodyswap au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:59:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdwithacamera/pseuds/thenerdwithacamera
Summary: Zen wakes up in a room that is not his.





	

**Author's Note:**

> titles are difficult  
> i guess you could say me trying to come up with something clever is a  
> catastrophe :^)  
> bUT HEY WELCOME TO MY FIRST FIC WOO  
> i hope you enjoy and please let me know if you would like me to write more! i'll do my best!

Zen wakes up in a room that is not his.

Sunlight filters in through sheer curtains, casting an almost ethereal glow over the foreign room.

The warmth under the covers contrasts greatly from the cool temperature of the room itself. He yawns and curls his toes against what feels like expensive silk.

He lets out a content sigh and attempts to capture the lingering threads of sleep once again. His eyes open quickly, though, at the realization that he does not own any silken sheets, nor does he have any large windows in his apartment complex. He lifts his head to assess his surroundings when he catches something in the corner of his eye.

Lying on the bed next to him appears to be a male resting silently. The figure’s hair, tousled from a night’s sleep, covers over half of their face, floating up after each quiet exhale. Zen observes the stranger for a moment until he shifts once again, hair falling away from his face. That’s when it becomes clear to Zen he isn’t just lying next some stranger.

He was lying next to Jumin Han.  
Of course. It should have been obvious... Who else does he know that has black hair and an affinity for the luxurious?

He searches his mind for any answers as to why he would lying next to this awful human being in this room, but he can’t remember anything past the RFA Party. In fact, Zen doesn’t even recall leaving the party, only leaving the room after that asshole introduced Elizabeth 3rd to everyone and flared up his allergies like a wildfire. What happened after that? Did he pass out from sneezing so much? Did he get more drunk than usual and decide Jumin would be an appropriate suitor?

Did they… do anything with each other? Zen flushes at the thought, face growing unbearably warm. There’s no way. He would remember something like that.

At some point during Zen’s intense speculating, Jumin’s eyes flutter open to stare at Zen. He can’t help but stare back at Jumin, afraid to break eye contact. He’s never realized just how long Jumin’s lashes are. Then again, he’s never willingly been so close to the other man before either. Zen is frozen, his heart thumping loud in his ears. Why isn’t Jumin reacting? Zen should be getting angry and upset right now, but he can’t bring himself to raise his voice; not when Jumin is looking at him with such a vulnerable expression.

Jumin’s lips slip into a small, affectionate smile. “Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well?” Jumin’s voice is quiet, still raspy from a night’s sleep.

_...What?_

Zen is stunned. He has never seen this cold and analytical man become so soft. Jumin Han does not smile at anyone, especially not Zen. What _happened_ last night?

With a gentle hand, Jumin reaches out towards Zen and begins to run his fingers through his white hair. Zen flinches at the touch, but Jumin doesn’t seem to mind, or care. Jumin’s fingernails brush against the top of his head in small circles, easing some of his tension. Despite the strange nature of this situation, the feeling is pleasant. He purrs and shifts his head slightly into Jumin’s hands.

 _Jumin has some really big hands_ , Zen thinks, closing his eyes to relish in the comfort of the moment. He imagines that instead of Jumin, this could be a lover waking him up in the morning. They would shake his shoulder carefully, whispering that it was time to get up. Zen would grab their hands and tell them to give him a few more minutes, pulling them down into his personal space and giving them an award winning smile. They would smile back at him, hand going to brush through his hair. Maybe they would comment on how long it’s getting, or how soft it is, but Zen would silence them by leaning forward and stealing their words with his mouth--

Jumin’s low voice pulls him out of his fantasies.

“You are so beautiful…”

Zen’s eyes shoot open. Beautiful? Of course, he knows how stunning his looks are, even early in the morning. There are many women out there who would pay a good amount of money to get a picture of him waking up. But what right did Jumin Han have to say such a thing to him so shamelessly? Zen opens his mouth to express his distaste and confusion, and maybe even to get some answers. However, what leaves his lips is something else entirely.

“ _Meow.”_

_….What the fuck?!_

He tries again. The same shrill, whining sound makes it’s way out of his throat, much to his own confusion.

Is this a dream? This has to be another psychic dream, Everything felt way too real.

He turns his head down to look at his hands, only to discover his complete lack of hands instead... He has paws. He hears a light thumping sound behind him. He turns his head to see the furry expanse of a cat’s back, white tail lashing against the bed.

His eyes widen, suddenly disoriented by the change in scale of everything. Now fully awake, his senses sharpened, it is clear that Jumin’s hands are not just extremely large, but Zen is much smaller. Everything looks a lot bigger, after a quick glance around. He can hear Jumin saying something, but he can’t focus. He needs to find a mirror.

Zen bats away Jumin’s hand, much to the other man’s surprise, and rolls off of the bed. He lands on the floor with a soft thump, somehow still landing on his two--

...Landing on his four feet.

He runs as quickly as he can through the room, searching for a mirror he can reach. You’d think with a man like Jumin Han, he’d have mirrors everywhere to keep up with his appearance for business purposes. Jumin’s penthouse is large to begin with, but being much smaller makes it exceedingly difficult to navigate through his unfamiliar surroundings. Zen nudges open a door to what looks like a bathroom. Perfect.

He climbs his way up to the counter, much more agile than he usually is, and reaches the top to look at himself in the mirror. He sees a cat staring back at him. Stunning blue eyes, a pure white coat of fur that looks to be well groomed, there is no doubt this cat is the notorious Elizabeth 3rd. The reflection copies all of Zen’s movements. He tries to speak again, but a desperate meow is all that leaves his throat.

He shakes his head in disbelief. He is not a cat. This is not real. He stalks up to the mirror, tilting his head at himself and occasionally getting distracted by the tail waving in the air behind him. He sits down and begins to study a paw. He sees long, well-manicured claws, obviously very well taken care of. Jumin must go to great lengths to assure the well being of his cat.

But this isn’t Elizabeth 3rd. This is Zen, having this ridiculous dream as Elizabeth 3rd. It’s strange how vivid this dream is, from the clarity of the images to the strong feeling of Jumin’s hand earlier. It’s sensory overload, almost as if he is truly experiencing a morning in the life of Jumin’s cat. None of his psychic dreams have been like this before. It’s unsettling.

He places his paw against the reflection, feeling the cool surface of the mirror against the pads. A shockwave ripples through his body after contact with the mirror and he jumps away from it, closing his eyes and feeling a wall against his back.

He opens his eyes and gasps, reaching a hand up to touch his head.

His own hand.

Facing the mirror once again, he sees himself standing there, looking confused and afraid. He is still wearing his clothes from the RFA party last night. He takes a step towards the mirror: his own mirror in his own bathroom, and rests a shaky hand on his reflection. The mirror is cold. Real.

He lets out a sigh. “Thank god…” he drops his hand and stares at himself in disbelief.

“But what the hell just happened?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my beautiful friend who helped me edit this meow  
> my blog is thenerdwithacamera please scream about mystic messenger with me


End file.
